


Crooked Young

by orphan_account



Series: Bed Of Roses [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, billy staying at steve's when things get tough, steve being his protective self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 22:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Hargrove. Get in the car.”He sees Billy’s shoulders stiffen and his lips are pulled back in a snarl as Billy turns his head to face him.“Fuck off, Harrington.”





	Crooked Young

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because i am in a little bit of writing funk. It's unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. Title is from Bring Me The Horizon.

“ He’s the kind of boy mother’s warn their children about.” Nancy had said with a note of wariness laced within her tone. But Steve hadn’t listened, hadn’t heeded her advice. The new boy in town was shrouded in mystery and Steve always has had a hard time staying away from mysteries. To him it was as if Billy was perpetually shrouded in a hazy mist, his appearance and manners screaming ‘trouble!’ to anyone who only looked at the surface. But the bruises Steve sometimes catches glimpses of, the dark circles under his eyes, the haunted look in his eyes, they tell a different story than the forefront likes people to believe. 

***   
It’s freezing outside, white flurries of snow falling down from the dark sky. Steve’s in his car with the heat fully turned up and yet he’s shivering in his thick sweater and coat. The cold has settled deep in his bones from when he’d been walking through the woods. He does that sometimes, idly wandering, fingertips grazing over the bark of trees to ensure no slimy substances or vines cover it. It’s almost compulsive, if he can’t sleep, which is often as evidenced by the bruises under his eyes, he goes to the woods, lets the darkness and stillness swallow him. Sometimes he feels like he is walking into the gaping maw of a beast. 

His eyes are attracted to a figure walking down the side of the road. His shoulders are hunched, he’s limping and Steve recognizes him as Billy by the leather jacket he’s wearing. He curses softly under his breath, fingers curling around the steering wheel. It’s not a choice, not to Steve, to drive up to the slightly pathetic figure of Billy, with his curls plastered to his forehead, shivering violently from the cold. Steve can’t let him walk around like that as he is obviously hurt. He’s not even wearing a winter coat. He wonders if Billy even owns one. So, he drives up, rolls down the window and steels himself for the rejection he’s no doubt about to get. 

“Hargrove. Get in the car.”

He sees Billy’s shoulders stiffen and his lips are pulled back in a snarl as Billy turns his head to face him. 

“Fuck off, Harrington.” 

Billy keeps on walking and Steve rolls his car along with him. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with your leg but I am guessing it’s a bad idea to walk around on it. Also, you must be freezing your balls off. The fuck is wrong with you anyway walking around without a proper coat?” 

Billy stops and his gaze is stormy even in the dim light. “Not everyone has the money to buy a nice fur lined coat like you Harrington, you pretentious shit! Like I said, keep on driving and leave me the fuck alone.”

“Do you want to catch pneumonia?” Steve asks, opting to ignore Billy’s snide remark. 

“Why you even stopping. Did you forget I broke your face?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t forget, but that’s got nothing to do with this. And you apologized.” He’s silent for a beat. “Get in the car, Hargrove, or I’ll call Hopper. With that leg you won’t make it home anytime soon so he’ll find you and drop you off at home personally.”

It’s a low blow, Steve admits, and Billy hisses at him through his teeth. 

“Manipulative are we?” Billy says, but he makes his way to the passenger side and slides in, slamming the door so hard Steve’s teeth rattle. In the low light of the car Steve can make out the small cuts littering Billy’s jaw, can see an impressive bruise forming under his left eye. 

“Don’t ask. Is none of your business.” 

Steve doesn’t. He turns the car around on the road in the direction of Billy’s home. He also doesn’t mention that Billy had been walking away from his home instead of toward it. 

When he turns onto Billy’s street Billy tells him to stop, he’ll walk the rest of the way. Steve does and Billy clambers out. For a moment it looks like he’s going to say something but in the end he doesn’t. He gives Steve a strangely curt nod, slams the door with considerably less force and limps off. 

Steve goes back to the woods, sleep long gone from his mind. 

***

The next day when Steve spots Billy from across the hall Billy’s bruises have faded which is incongruous with what he saw only last night. It’s after basketball practice ( Billy had been benched due to his leg ) in the locker rooms that Steve corners Billy. When he’s up close he can make out the slightly different skin tone on the spots the bruises were. 

“It’s called concealer, Harrington.” Billy says.

The cuts are still there, and Steve’s gaze lingers on them. The bruises on Billy’s shoulder are without a doubt hand shaped. Bile rises in the back of his throat. He doesn’t like to draw conclusions without knowing all the facts, and he knows Billy isn’t going to provide him the missing pieces, but Max once mentioned that Neil Hargrove would get handsy when enough alcohol flowed through his bloodstream. Handsy can mean a lot of things but what’s in front of him points to violence. 

“Clever.” He says. “To cover up the bruises.” He pulls back a little, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. He turns around, walks back to where he deposited his clothes and pulls on his shirt. 

“My parents aren’t home a lot.” His voice is slightly muffled as he’s still pulling on his shirt. “If you ever need it, my doors open.” He says it with nonchalance but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he grabs his bag and hightails it out of there without waiting for Billy’s response. 

***

A week passes, then two and Billy and Steve only speak when they’re on the court. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that Billy has silently denied his offer and that’s fine. Thus, it comes as a surprise that his doorbell rings at ass o’clock one night, revealing Billy Hargrove on his front steps with a sluggishly bleeding nose when he answers the door. 

“You said your door was open.” Billy says defensively. 

Steve refrains from mentioning that it’s almost four in the morning and opens the door wide so Billy can step past him and into the hall. 

Steve still smells of sleep and Billy smells of beer and blood from where he stands awkwardly in his hallway. 

“No shoes in the house, it’s my moms rule.” Steve says and he sees Billy bend down to unlace his boots from his periphery. Steve walks to the kitchen, grabs an old dish towel and fills it with ice cubes. He shoves it in Billy’s hands when he meanders into the kitchen. 

“There’s a guest bedroom you can use if you want. It’s next to the bathroom.” Steve watches Billy putting the ice gingerly against his swollen nose. It doesn’t appear to be broken. “You can smoke inside as long as you have a window open. I am going back to bed.” 

Steve feels Billy’s gaze bore into the back of his head when he walks out of the kitchen.

The next morning, Billy has already gone. There’s a note on the counter. The only word scribbled on it is ‘thanks.’

***  
It becomes a regular thing, sort of. About once a week, sometimes more often, Billy stands at his door and Steve lets him in. They do their own thing, go to sleep and Billy is always gone when Steve wakes up. Sometimes they watch a movie, or do homework or talk about practice. The conversations are never personal, Steve never asks about the bruises, or the lack of bruises on some occasions. He never tries to confirm his nagging suspicion that it’s Billy’s father that abuses him. For his part, Billy doesn't ask why Steve’s parents are never home. 

About three months in Steve has the epiphany that he feels disappointed when once again he wakes up to an empty house. The night before Billy had appeared with a split lip, still grinning. Steve can’t pinpoint when exactly during their arrangement he’d started to feel disappointed when Billy isn’t there when he wakes, or why he feels fluttering in his stomach when Billy shows up. 

He’s lying to himself. He’s known for awhile now that he likes both boys and girls and he’d have to be blind not to see Billy for the greek god that he is. It isn’t love what he feels, it’s more of a mix of worry and attraction with a healthy dash of his own urge to protect. His protective streak acted up ever since he adopted his gaggle of kids and it has refused to go dormant ever since. 

Steve opts to ignore it, continues allowing Billy into his house when the nights are tough, and steels himself every morning when he opens his eyes to an empty house. 

***  
One afternoon the phone at the Harrington residence rings and Steve nearly topples from his perch on the kitchen counter. 

“Hello, Steve Harrington speaking.” He says, heart still somewhere in his throat. Loud, unexpected noises have a way of startling him ever since the upside down. 

“Hey, pretty boy, it’s Billy.”

Steve frowns. This is new. Billy has never called to his home before. 

“Uh.” He manages. “How’d you get my number?”

“Asked Max.”

“And she just gave it?” Steve feels oddly betrayed. 

“She knows. About where I go. Figured it out awhile ago, when you lend me your shirt because mine had blood on it.”

“Oh.” Steve says. “Yeah, she’s a smart kid.”

“Yeah. Hey, uh, I was wondering if you are doing anything?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” Steve trails of, scratches the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “Why, you wanna hang out?”

It might be his imagination but Billy’s tone is relieved when he answers “Yes.”

“You can come over. I told you, doors open.” 

“Sure thing. Be there in an hour.” The line goes dead. 

Steve runs up the stairs as if the devil is chasing him, to take a shower. 

***

Billy shows up devoid of any visible bruising and with a bottle of cheap whiskey clasped in his hand. His grin is easy but his eyes are guarded and something about the look he gives Steve sets him on edge. 

Billy pulls off his boots and pads to the living room where he sprawls on the couch. Steve lifts his legs and wedges himself against the armrest. 

“So, what’s the occasion?”

Billy unscrews the cap from the bottle and takes a long swig. He holds the bottle out to Steve and he takes a pull as well, the alcohol burning the back of his throat.

“Wanted to tell you about the bruises, and I want to try something.” Billy says eventually. 

Steve quirks his brow. “Which are you gonna do first?” 

“Pretty sure that you already know who’s banging me around.”

Steve sucks in a breath, looks at a spot on the rug and bites his tongue. 

“It’s my dad. Has been a dick ever since mom left. He doesn’t touch Max though if you’re wondering.”

“Why don’t you tell someone?” Steve asks. 

Billy rolls his eyes at him. “Because in a few months I hopefully graduate and can fuck off to college. It’s not worth telling someone.” The I am used to it by now, remains unspoken.

Steve awkwardly pats Billy’s shin. “I guess. I can see your point.” He smiles but it’s a brittle thing. When he glances at Billy, Billy is peering up at him from under his eyelashes. There is something in his gaze that Steve can’t describe, challenging almost, but also determined and it sets Steve’s heart thudding against his sternum. 

“And what’s this thing you wanted to try.” He says or croaks since his throat has gone dry. 

Billy sits up smoothy, bringing him right into Steve’s personal space. His breath smells of whiskey and cigarettes. He lifts a hand and places a thumb against Steve’s bottom lip. Steve’s lungs seem to shrink a few sizes. 

Billy leans in, eyes intend on Steve’s, keeping them open even when his lips brush over Steve’s. It’s not really a kiss, more a taste of what a kiss from Billy could be like. 

“Well, you’re not running.” Billy says, smugly. 

Steve lurges forward, grabs a handful of curls, and kisses Billy properly, tongue and all. Billy’s hard lines soften as he melts against Steve. When the need for air becomes too great they break apart, both with red, slick and kiss swollen lips. 

“No, not running.” Steve says. Billy hums, doesn’t move an inch and Steve doesn’t really mind. 

“Does this mean I can sleep in your bed when I come over?” 

“Yeah I guess.” Steve says, carding his fingers through Billy’s curls. Billy leans into it, eyes closed. 

“Wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you, pretty boy.” he eventually says and this time it’s Steve’s turn to smile smugly. 

“Gotta say that me wanting to kiss you developed a bit later, you know, with you beating my face in and all.” 

Billy winces, opens his eyes and promptly starts peppering Steve’s face with little kisses.   
“Sorry.” He murmurs when he reaches Steve’s lips. He curls his arms around Billy, wiggles around until he’s on his back with Billy sprawled on his chest. 

“Apology accepted. Again.” He says, and kisses Billy again. 

It isn’t love, Steve thinks later, when they’re in bed and Billy is fast asleep. But it could be.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked<3 Find me on tumblr @billyhhargrove.


End file.
